


paraskínia

by greenfelix (literallyepsilon)



Series: forever and always [1]
Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, but im not tagging it bc its a minor ship, in which their names are uriel/oswald/raphael/michael respectively, play!au, theres tasutsumu too!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 05:29:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18359561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literallyepsilon/pseuds/greenfelix
Summary: paraskínia:wingsa story about the love between an angel and a human.





	paraskínia

A long time ago, too long ago now that Uriel can barely remember, he walked on earth, hand in hand with another known as his lover. He can barely remember his face, nor can he remember his name, or the way he spoke, but he remembers, more than anything, the way his heart soared at the sight of him, and how their fingers would intertwine together just perfectly, and how his heart seemed to shatter in his chest when he died.

Seeing Michael go through this same process tore his mind back to those memories of so long ago...despite wishing, for some reason, that he’d done the same as Michael had, protecting his lover in his time of need. Despite not remembering exactly what had happened, if only he had been able to do more than just sit and watch…

“Uriel,” Raphael says, from where he’s sitting beside him, “are you alright?”   
“I’m fine.” Uriel says in response. “I’m just thinking.”   
“About what?”

To be honest, Uriel can’t answer that. He just shrugs, and Raphael fixes him with a gentle look, unsure what else to say in the situation. The silence is deafening, devoid of the sunshine that used to exist in their lives. Uriel looks over at Raphael, who’s watching through to the human world, silent as well. 

“Michael...huh,” Raphael says, and Uriel makes a noise, joining him in watching. “...Everyday, I — “

His words cut off in his throat. Raphael blinks once, and then twice, at the porthole he’s watching through. 

“Michael…?”

Uriel moves over to the porthole Raphael’s staring through, only to see the man in question Raphael’s looking at. His eyes widen, and he swallows at the sight of him -- undoubtedly, that is Michael, but...he’s on Earth, walking next to a handsome stranger, tall, with bright green hair. Uriel’s heart twinges at the sight -- why?

“What is -- is that really him?” Raphael’s voice is barely a whisper. “Michael…”   
“Raphael,” Uriel says, as if he knows what Raphael is going to do. Honestly, he might. “...Don’t...get too involved.”   
“But Uriel -- if that’s Michael, then, then -- “   
“It’s  _ not  _ Michael.”

It can’t be -- it can’t be, and yet, looking at him -- it just seems more and more plausible. He doesn’t know, but it makes sense -- somehow. Looking at this stranger, that just looks  _ way  _ too much like Michael...it could be.

Uriel’s eyes are drawn to the stranger beside him.

“...Who is that?” he whispers, and Raphael, somehow, manages to hear him.   
“Oswald,” Raphael says, and Uriel doesn’t miss the flicker in Raphael’s eyes as Michael (?) laughs. “...Michael’s friend.”   
“What are they talking about?”

The stranger -- Oswald -- laughs, and tips his head back, and Uriel is faintly reminded of a long forgotten past. His breath catches in his throat, and he swallows as he watches him for a little longer. He can feel Raphael’s eyes on him, suddenly, and he turns to look at him, curious as to what he’s thinking.

“...Oswald,” Raphael begins. “He looks like... _ him _ , doesn’t he…?”   
“Him…?” Uriel asks. “...Who…?”

Nonetheless, his eyes turn back to the porthole, watching as Michael and Oswald walk away, laughing together about something they can’t hear. Raphael’s eyes are misty, and for once, Uriel can understand how he feels. He swallows air he doesn’t need, and they sit back, staring into nothingness for a little while. 

“Who…?” Uriel repeats.   
“You don’t remember, huh…” Raphael replies, then. “...Good. Best you don’t.”   
“What are you talking about?”

Raphael fixes Uriel with soft eyes full of -- an unnamed emotion that Uriel can’t place, and his throat suddenly feels dry, pulling away to pull the hood over his head as he stands. 

“Where are you going?”   
“I’m going to check on them.”

A soft laugh echoes from Raphael’s throat.

“Don’t use your powers for evil,” he says, and Uriel can’t help the smile on his face.

* * *

“Oswald,” Michael says, and Oswald glances over at him, looking up from his laptop.

It had been about a week or so since he’d become acquainted with the other, and they’d became fast friends, despite how absent minded Michael seemed to be. To be honest, Oswald was slightly worried about him -- with how generous and kindhearted he was, he wouldn’t be surprised if someone tried to take advantage of him one day. The strong must protect the sweet, after all.

They were a cafe, today, celebrating Michael’s first paycheck, and to work on their group assignment together for a little bit. The cafe called “Oz”, and was one of Michael’s favorite places, and was decorated with clearly fake greenery and slightly overstated gold fittings. Oswald thought it was kind of an odd place, but there wasn’t anything he could say against Michael’s decision, nor could he recommend a better cafe. 

To be honest, he didn’t have many friends other than Michael, anyway.

“Yes, Michael?” Oswald prods, after Michael dazes off. “What is it?”   
“Oh, well…”

Michael waves his hand, laughing slightly.

“It’s silly. You’ll make fun of me, Oswald.” he says, and Oswald leans a little closer to him. “H-Hey…”   
“What is it?” Oswald repeats, and Michael can’t help the flush of embarrassment that rises on his face. “I won’t make fun of you.”    
“Well...I was just thinking.” Michael’s got a cute pout on, not meeting Oswald’s eyes as he looks over at the sketchpad in front of him. “Do you think there’s any truth to the idea that there’s angels watching over us?”

Oswald snorts, and Michael scrambles up, looking at Oswald with a betrayed look in his eye.

“I told you you’d make fun of me!” Michael accuses, and Oswald only laughs harder, buckling over as patrons of the cafe turn to look at him. “Be quiet -- ! People are looking!”   
“Where did  _ that  _ come from?” Oswald asks, covering his mouth to stop from laughing more. “Do you think you’re protected by an angel?”   
“N-No,” Michael’s voice is tiny, heavy with embarrassment. “I mean, what angel would want to care for me…?”   
“Michael,” Oswald says, “if there isn’t an angel looking out for you, I’ll have to go up to heaven and become one.”   
“It’s probably not that easy to become an angel,” a different voice pipes up. “Here’s your coffee.”

Oswald looks up at the stranger who’s suddenly arrived at their table, and feels, instantly, like someone has thrown a stake straight into his heart. 

The barista in front of them is of average height, with soft-looking silver hair that falls over one eye. The eye he can see is bright emerald green, almost sparkling in the sunlight that falls over their table. His skin is so smooth, almost angelic. Oswald almost wants to reach out and touch, see if their hands fit together perfectly --  _ like they should _ , his brain tells him, but the thought is as fleeting as first snow. His heart skips a beat, and he swallows.

“Thank you,” Michael says, taking the coffee. “Oswald -- “   
“Oh, thank you.” Oswald snaps to attention, taking the coffee.

The nametag on his shirt reads ‘December’, and Oswald can’t help but furrow his brow at the odd choice of name. He wants to ask, but -- something tells him he probably shouldn’t. December rubs gently at his temples, and yawns, before moving to turn away to attend to another table. Instantly, Michael turns to Oswald, eyebrow raised. Oswald stares at him.

“...What.”   
“You were literally staring at him like he was a rare breed of animal.”   
“What kind of weird analogy -- “   
“You like him.”

Oswald gives Michael a withering glare, and he laughs, shrugging slightly under the force of his glare. Michael supports his chin on his hand, looking over at Oswald, watching him for a few moments. December, the barista, walks by again, and Oswald’s gaze is instantly taken away by him again. 

“...See?” Michael says, mercifully, when the other is out of hearing distance. “You can’t stop looking.”   
“I was just thinking about what kind of name  _ December  _ was,” Oswald says, hiding his face in his coffee cup   
“That’s mine.”   
“No, it’s not.”   
“It’s sweet. You hate sweet things.”   
“...”

Oswald wishes for death.

* * *

It has been about one week since Uriel had descended to the human world. Every now and then, of course, he returns to heaven to give his reports, and watches over everyone under his care. However…

There’s something about Oswald that he can’t place. Something that tells him that no matter what, he wants to be by his side. It’s a painful kind of feeling, and kind of scary -- he’s scared that if he gets too close, he won’t want to leave. And yet, Uriel feels like if he doesn’t see him, he’ll die.

Not that Oswald has been making it difficult for Uriel to see him. Every time Uriel returns to his ‘job’ at Oz, he finds Oswald at a table, sometimes with Michael, and sometimes alone, drinking a cup of extremely dark looking coffee. It almost looks  _ poisonous _ . Uriel has to keep from wincing every time he serves it to him -- and of  _ course _ , he serves it to him. 

(He won’t admit it, but he almost elbowed someone out of the way once when they were about to take his order to him. That day was embarrassing to a fault, especially considering Oswald was like two tables away, but the shy little smile that Oswald gave him after made his whole day better.)

“Uriel,” Raphael had said, the last time he’d returned, “are you sure this is alright?”   
“I’m not a guardian angel for no reason,” Uriel had replied, a weak response at best. “I should be able to survive being in the human world.”

He’d said that, but...being human kind of seemed appealing, at this point. Staying down here where Oswald was…

“Help…”

Uriel blinks, the faint cry of help  _ extremely  _ loud in his ears. Ah, the props of being a guardian angel sure came in handy in these kinds of situations. Worry surges through his veins -- what’s happening? Who’s hurt? His legs move before his head processes the voice -- Oswald -- is he alright? What’s happening?

“Help…”   
“Meowww.”

The sight is both relaxing and infuriating at the same time. Oswald is standing in the middle of the sidewalk, wearing a comfortable looking winter coat, and a soft looking scarf, along with his signature hat -- what kind of hat it is escapes Uriel, and he’s not so sure why it somehow  _ matters  _ to him what kind of hat Oswald is wearing. He’s carrying his laptop and some books -- perhaps he’s on his way to the cafe? Uriel doesn’t have a shift today…

At Oswald’s feet are what Uriel can only describe as a  _ sea  _ of kittens. They’re pawing at his feet, and Oswald looks stuck stiff, looking down at these little cats with a helpless expression on his face. Uriel snorts, covering his mouth, and Oswald looks up at him.

“O-Oh, y-you’re -- ! “ he begins, and then coughs, very Loudly. “I mean, um -- you’re December, from the cafe.”   
“And you’re the guy who was talking about angels.” Uriel replies.   
“It wasn’t me. That was my friend.”   
“Mmhm. Do you need help?”

Oswald looks pained to ask for help.

“Come here kitties,” Uriel whispers, and the cats migrate over to him.

He squats, and they find comfortable homes in his jacket hood and large pockets, meowing loudly and incessantly.

“I thought I was a goner,” Oswald breathes, and Uriel snorts again. “Don’t laugh at me. I don’t like cats.”   
“I can tell.” Uriel stands, a kitty in his hands. He holds it up to Oswald, who grimaces. “He seems to like you, though.”   
“All cats do.”

If Uriel wasn’t mistaken, Oswald had just smiled. He smiles in return, hoping it’d trigger another smile from the other man -- and almost as if he’s psychic (he’s not, but God, that would be useful) Oswald smiles back.

“Where are you off to?” Uriel asks, deciding to just live with the fate of caring for perhaps 15 or so kittens. “The cafe?”   
“Ah, yeah,” Oswald says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Did you just come back?”   
“I don’t have a shift today.”   
“Oh.”

Oswald’s face is indescribable. 

“...Were you going to go because I wa — “ Uriel begins, unable to keep the hope from seeping into his voice.  
“Maybe.” Oswald says in response. “...I’m going home."  
“No, wait.” 

Uriel grabs his wrist, and both of them stop short. Oswald’s amethyst eyes flick down to where he’s holding him, and then back up to Uriel’s face. He looks, adorably, like a deer in headlights.

“...Um.” Oswald says.  
“Um…” Uriel echoes. 

They stand there, the wind blowing odd leaves around, as if they’re stuck in some kind of romance novel. Oswald still doesn’t move, wrist still in Uriel’s grasp, and Uriel can clearly see the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows. His mind turns to things unfit of an angel, and he shakes his head, pulling away.

“...Let’s go together.” he says. “To the cafe.”   
“Huh?” Oswald asks, sounding distant.    
“Let’s go to the cafe. You were going to the cafe to see me, right?” Uriel can’t help how his voice shakes. “So let’s...go together.”   
“...” Oswald’s smile is blinding. “...Sure.”

* * *

“I’m in love.”  
“You’ve said that for the eighth time today, Oswald…”

Oswald groans, covering his face. It’s embarrassing, more than anything else, how  _ insanely  _ in love he is with December. 

He’s with Michael, now, lying down on his bed. Every time he closes his eyes, he imagines December’s little smile, and how he curls his fingers around coffee cups and licks chocolate off of his finger tips, and the way he leans into him when he’s scared of getting squished on the train. God, he’s going to die! He’s going to die, and Oswald  _ loves  _ it. 

He groans again, loudly, and Michael laughs, just as loud.

“You should just tell him.” Michael says. “If you’re in love with him. I see December look at you like you’re the world, you know.”   
“Like  _ hell _ I will,” Oswald says, dragging his hands down his face. “I’ll die, and you know it.”   
“You’re only making yourself suffer.”   
“Speak for yourself. You don’t ever speak about your crushes. Do you have one?”

Jackpot.

Michael instantly glances away, falling quiet. Oswald cracks an eye open to look at him, and relishes in the soft red staining his friend’s face, thankful for at least a change in subject. He turns on the bed to face him, adjusting his glasses.

“Well?” Oswald asks. “Who is it? Do I know them?”   
“N-No,” Michael replies, lifting a book to hide his blush. “You’ll laugh at me.”   
“I might, but I’ll keep asking you until you tell me.”   
“What’s with this honesty…”

Michael sighs, and slowly lowers the book, still not meeting Oswald’s piercing gaze. He lets out a slow, tired breath, and finally looks over, his soft blue eyes looking -- oddly distant, oddly ancient, so much so that it’s almost overwhelming for Oswald, who’s used to the light in his eyes.

“...Remember when I talked about angels?” Michael says. “Hear me out first.”   
“I wasn’t going to say anything.” Oswald has a  _ lot  _ to say.   
“I think I met mine.”    
“...And you fell in love with them?” Oswald’s tone is incredulous, and Michael whacks himself in the face with his book.   
“He called me by name. Says he misses me. I don’t know what he was talking about, but my heart fluttered…” Michael says, muttered behind the hardcover of the book. “He said he’d always look out for me.”   
“Are you sure this wasn’t a dream?”    
“It wasn’t! Look!”

Michael turns away abruptly, then, and digs around in his desk. Oswald watches him with only  _ slight  _ concern in his eyes, and then blinks as Michael pulls a feather out. It’s spotless white, and fluffy in a way that it can’t possibly be from a bird. As Oswald reaches out to touch it, Michael yanks it back, tipping his chair back and whacking his head on the floor.

At least, he would have.

A  _ whoosh  _ of wind surrounds their small dorm room, and suddenly, there’s a man in his room, wings spreading wide behind him, catching Michael on his lap. He’s tall, and buff, and has almost ethereal violet eyes -- almost like December’s. Oswald would have made a proper connection, if he wasn’t so shaken by the sudden appearance of the man.

“Michael,” the buff man says, as if he hasn’t even seen Oswald, “are you alright?”   
“Oswald,” Michael says, instead of responding to said buff man, “this is Raphael.”   
“You’re an angel.” Oswald tries, and decides he has no idea if he’s awake right now. “Oh, you’re the one Michael is supposedly in love w -- “

Michael, somehow, grabs a book and throws it at him. Oswald dodges just in time, and snorts at Michael’s bright red face.

“What, weren’t you the one who said that you should tell someone if you’re in love with them.” Oswald teases as Michael keeps throwing books and papers at him.    
“That’s because I know December likes you too!” Michael says, having run out of ammo. He hides his face with his hands. “Aaaaaaahhhh….”   
“December?” Raphael asks, voice quiet. “...I see…”   
“Do you know something about him?” Suddenly interested, Oswald pitches up. “Do you know him?”   
“I do.” Raphael stares at him for a moment or two. “You should stay away from him.”   
“Raphael?” Michael’s voice is worried more than anything. “What do you mean?”

The words...make Oswald angry. He’s not sure why, but a harsh rage rises in the pit of his stomach. What do you mean, ‘stay away from him’? What was he, his dad, or something? December was his friend -- right? They were friends, weren’t they…? Why would he stay away from his friend?

“Oswald,” Michael says, sitting up slowly. “Raphael…”   
“I’m sure Uriel can explain himself to him,” Raphael says. “Oswald...you should talk to him, and then you’ll understand.”   
“Uriel…?”

The rage leaves Oswald like a deflating balloon. Uriel…? Was… December lying about his identity? Was he an angel, too? 

“I don’t understand.” Oswald whispers, then. “Why...would he lie to me about this?”   
“...I don’t know, either.” Raphael sits back, then, watching him. Michael’s still in his lap, and Raphael has an arm around him. “I don’t know why Uriel wanted to come see you -- not really, but...I have an idea.”   
“Tell me.”    
“Oswald,” Michael says, but Raphael squeezes him softly.   
“It’s okay. I’ll tell you what I know, Oswald.”

Raphael takes in a soft breath, and then begins to speak.

* * *

_ A long time ago, Uriel was a human just like you and Michael. He lived a regular life, under the sun. I know, because I was there, too. At the time, both he and I were humans, and we were, like you, unknowing of the presence of angels. _

_ Until that one day… _

_ One day, when we were still toddlers, an angel descended from the heavens, right in front of us. It was something...so shocking that neither of us really recovered from it. I carried the image with me for the rest of my life, but, as it turned out, Uriel did a little more than just carry it with him. _

_ The angel we’d met turned out to be Lucifer, falling to Earth after his falling out with God. _

“And the angel...looked a lot like you, Oswald.” Raphael says, eyes...unreadable.   
“Like me?” Oswald had sat, listening to his story. He hadn’t thought he’d be included.   
“I’ll explain.”

_ While I left the idea of the fallen angel behind, thinking it was another one of my childish hallucinations, Uriel didn’t forget so easily. When we were older, he told me that he’d seen Lucifer again, and I naturally thought it was crazy, but he’d lead me to his room, and like he said, Lucifer was there. _

_ I don’t know how Uriel found him. Or why. He was there, sleeping in Uriel’s bed, wings molted to the bone. It was both the most celestial and the most monstrous thing I’ve ever seen. Shocked to the core, I let Uriel deal with him on his own. _

_ I wondered, back then, and I still wonder now, if that was a good decision. _

“Why?” Michael asks. “Raphael…?”   
“He fell in love with him.” Raphael says softly. “Uriel fell in love with Lucifer, and Lucifer fell in love with him, too.”

_ Despite the people involved -- namely, the person -- the love between Uriel and Lucifer was one of the sweetest, purest loves I’ve ever seen in my life. They were tooth rottingly sweet, head over heels for each other. I’d never seen Uriel smile like he smiled then, and I never saw it again. _

_ One day, Lucifer was sought out by the angels, angry that he’d betrayed God and left the world. Their leader, Gabriel, was determined to kill both him and Uriel for acting against God -- Lucifer for betraying him, and Uriel for harboring such a criminal. Happy days were surely at their end, then. _

_ Lucifer, wanting to save his beloved, left without a question to be executed -- but they couldn’t leave Uriel alone. So they wiped his memory. _

“Why do you know this?” Oswald asks. “Why -- why do you know?”   
“I was there. Uriel’s my friend.” Raphael replies. “I -- I was charged to care for him, and make sure he never fell into love with Lucifer again, but…”

_ But… _

_ Every lifetime I lived through with Uriel, he’d fall in love with you again and again. Even when he became an angel, he’d just keep falling for you -- despite the fact that he now couldn’t physically be with you. _

_ Until now. _

“I…” Raphael begins. “I...lost someone I loved, too.”   
“You did?” Michael asks. “Who?”   
“You.” Raphael’s voice shakes. “I lost you, Michael.”   
“Me…?”

Michael, shaken, turns to face Raphael, and cups his face, gently. He looks into Raphael’s eyes for a long moment, before pulling away, and pressing into his neck for the time being. He didn’t say anything else, but Oswald could see the minute shake in his shoulders.

“So what’s different about now…?” Oswald prods.   
“Now...I know what it’s like to lose someone I love. Likely…they’ll erase our memories and drop us down to Earth, after this.” Raphael looks away. “I can’t keep you from Uriel. If you love him, I want you to go to him, but...just know, okay…?”

Oswald wanted to see him now. He wanted to see him -- hold him, tell him that things would be alright, that he wasn’t going anywhere. He wanted that more than anything else.

Quietly leaving Raphael and Michael, he headed off to find his angel.

* * *

It didn’t take long -- December tended to be around whenever Oswald seemed to need him. If he really was an angel...then it made a little bit more sense.

“Oswald?” December asks, voice quiet. “You look...out of it.”

They’re at a park. Somehow, Oswald’s legs moved by themselves, and had taken him to this park. The sounds of children seem far away as they play on the slides nearby. December’s sitting on a swing, dressed in that stupidly cute winter jacket with that scarf that Oswald was  _ pretty  _ sure was his… Honestly, was December hoarding his things.

“...Uriel.” Oswald says, and suddenly, the whole park falls silent. “...Is that your name?”

_ Time has stopped,  _ Oswald belatedly thinks. Somehow, he’s not...too scared about it? Nor does he find it too odd. He’s not sure why -- perhaps the shock of it hasn’t gotten to him, yet? He can see children suspended on the monkey bars, or halfway down slides, and dogs mid-jump to catch whatever their owner has thrown. He can even see an ice cream halfway on its trip to the ground. He lights a candle internally for the person who owned that ice cream.

“How did you find out?” December -- no, Uriel -- says, pulling Oswald’s scarf up. “Was it Raphael?”   
“Mm.” Oswald sits on the swing next to him, and is a little childishly pleased to see it still swung. “He appeared in my dorm room because Michael fell down.”   
“I see.” Uriel doesn’t look at him. “...Are you angry?”   
“...You know,” Oswald begins, “I’m not. I don’t know why. I get the feeling that...I should be angry, but…”  
“...But?”

Uriel looks over at him, then, and Oswald meets his eyes. Sparkling emerald, ethereal in nature. He feels as if he looks away, Uriel will sprout wings and fly away, leaving him alone here on these swings. 

It scares him how much he wants him to stay.

So much so, that he reaches out, and intertwines Uriel’s fingers in his. Uriel, who’s still looking at him, starts slightly, but he holds on. God -- he holds on. Oswald’s heart is going to jump out of his chest. 

“Even if you’re not really December,” Oswald says, finding his thoughts, “you’re still you.”   
“What’s with that,” Uriel mumbles, glancing away. “That doesn’t mean anything.”   
“Even...if you were really someone else,” Oswald takes a long breath. “I’d...still be in love with you.”

Uriel jumps again, and Oswald looks over at him, watching as Uriel’s shoulders start to shake. He stands, like he wants to leave, but he’s still holding onto his hand. As if realising this, Uriel turns, and kneels in front of where Oswald is gently swinging, a little bit of movement in this still image. He looks up, and Oswald looks down back at him, watching as gorgeous white wings unfurl from his back, spreading out in the air. Feathers drop from them, as if he’s molting.

“Uriel…” Oswald doesn’t know what to say.   
“You don’t have to say anything,” Uriel replies. Mindreader. “Just…”

He lifts Oswald’s hand, and gently sets it on his face. He presses his cheek into it, and Oswald almost dies on the spot, cupping his cheek softly.

“I forgot what it was like,” Uriel whispers, “to be loved by someone.”

And suddenly, Oswald remembers. 

It’s a rush of memories, spanning what seems to be longer than centuries, longer than his current lifespan, definitely, of him and Uriel, him and Uriel -- different stories, different life times, and the rush in his chest almost makes him cry.

“You may have forgotten,” Oswald says, “but I still love you.”   
“Me too, Chikage,” Uriel says. “I love you.”

* * *

Hisoka’s eyes open, and the moon shines quietly through the small window in their home. Rubbing his eyes, Hisoka turns, looking over at the man sleeping next to him. Chikage’s fast asleep, still, or at least acting like he is, chest rising and falling with his gentle breaths. Hisoka leans in, pressing into his back slightly.

As expected, Chikage stirs, and turns to face him, bleary eyes opening as he does so. He raises a hand to gently cup Hisoka’s face, and the younger leans into it, letting his eyes close. Chikage’s hand is warm, and cups his face almost perfectly. 

“What is it?” Chikage asks, voice soft as the night itself. “Are you alright?”   
“Had a dream,” Hisoka replies, as if that explains anything. “I’m alright, though.”   
“Mm,” Chikage sounds like he’s about to drift back off into sleep. “Want to talk about it?”   
“Tomorrow.”

They’re silent for a little more, and Chikage turns, slightly, as if to return to sleep, but Hisoka holds onto his arm to keep him there. His eyes roam across Chikage’s face, tracing each dip, each inch of perfect skin and softness, to the way his eyebrows are shaped, and to the shape of each eye, normally hidden behind his glasses.

“Hey, April.” Hisoka whispers.   
“Mmhm.” Chikage replies.   
“Do you think we’re fated?”

Chikage lets out a non-assuming ‘hmph’, and Hisoka rolls his eyes.

“Unromantic.” he says, and Chikage wraps an arm around him, pulling him into his chest.   
“Who cares if we’re fated,” Chikage replies, sounding at least a little more awake, now. “Even if we’re not, I’ll still be in love with you.”

That’s a sentence Hisoka had never expected Chikage to say. He feels his face heat up, and he buries his head into Chikage’s collarbone, as if their bodies could meld into one if they had to. He swallows, and Chikage squeezes him gently, fingers gently running through his hair.

“Even if the world is against us?” Hisoka asks.  
“Even then,” Chikage whispers. “I love you.”

They may say those three words a lot, but every time Chikage mentions it, Hisoka’s heart flips in his chest. He really is in love with him, every part of him, from the moment they met until now.

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> (citron voice) ANATA
> 
> thank you for reading my hot mess. good chikahiso night


End file.
